by Chris Ryan
‘If you want something from Hunter,’ he said, ‘you have to give him something in return. And don’t try to mess with him, because then he’ll mess with you, twice as hard.’
Ricky nodded. ‘Got it,’ he said.
– But what have you got to give him?
– We’ll think of something.
Tommy opened the door and led Ricky into a grubby hallway with peeling wallpaper and a damp atmosphere. It was barely any warmer in here than outside. To the left was a door, slightly ajar. Ricky followed Tommy through it and down a dark flight of stone steps. They led into a large, dimly lit basement room with items of shabby furniture dotted around. Ricky’s eyes picked out the three Thrownaways he’d seen approaching Keeper’s House, huddled on sofas and armchairs along with another six youngsters. They were all eyeing him carefully as he entered.
But none of them were eyeing him so carefully as the man who emerged from the shadows in a far corner of the room. He looked about sixty, with a nose that had been broken more than once and greedy, watery eyes that were full of suspicion.
‘Empty-handed again, Tommy?’ the old man rasped. ‘You ain’t paying your way, son.’
Tommy bowed his head.
‘But it looks like you brought old Hunter a guest. Is that right?’
Tommy didn’t reply and Ricky could tell he was frightened. Everyone in this gloomy basement was frightened. Including Ricky.
He stepped forward. ‘I need some help,’ he said.
A nasty smile spread across Hunter’s face. ‘Did you hear that?’ he announced to the room in general. ‘Our young friend here needs some help.’ He stepped up to Ricky, face to face with him, close enough for Ricky to smell his foul breath. ‘Trouble is, sunshine, that we’re not in the business of helping strangers. In fact, and here’s the funny thing . . .’ With this, he looked round to the others in the room with an even broader, more loathsome smile. ‘The funny thing is, we do exactly the opposite, don’t we, lads?’
There was a muttering of agreement around the room. Ricky glanced over at Tommy, who subtly mouthed the words: ‘Get out!’
Too late.
For a man in his sixties, Hunter moved fast. He thrust out his right hand and grabbed Ricky by the throat, squeezing hard as he pushed him up against the wall. Ricky felt his whole body jar with the impact as Hunter whispered: ‘You shouldn’t have come here, sunshine.’
Ricky could barely breathe, let alone speak clearly. His throat burned as he tried to talk. ‘I . . . I’ve got something for you,’ he whispered.
Hunter sneered. ‘Oh, yeah? What are you then, Father bleedin’ Christmas?’
‘S – seriously, I’ve got something . . .’
Hunter gave a barking laugh. ‘So what is it, sunshine? What’s this amazing gift of yours?’
Ricky struggled for breath as he answered: ‘Your wallet.’
Silence in the room. Hunter’s watery eyes narrowed again. Slowly he released his grip on Ricky’s throat and Ricky inhaled deeply as Hunter patted down his own pockets. When he couldn’t find what he was looking for, Ricky held up the heavy black wallet that he had taken from Hunter’s overcoat just minutes before the old man had grabbed his throat.
It was as if the whole room was holding its breath, waiting to see how Hunter would react. Ricky handed him the wallet, which Hunter snatched back. Then Ricky removed the photograph of Izzy Cole from his back pocket again and held it up. ‘I’m looking for this girl,’ he said. ‘I think you might know where she is.’ He examined Hunter’s face as he said this. There was a flicker of recognition. Hunter knew who Izzy Cole was – Ricky was sure of it.
‘What if I do?’ Hunter said, his voice dangerous.
‘Here’s what I think,’ Ricky replied. He looked around the room. All eyes were on him. ‘You send the boys and girls in this room out to rob for you. In return, you give them a place to stay and food to eat so they don’t have to live on the street.’ Ricky sniffed, then looked directly at Hunter again. ‘I’m the best pickpocket you ever met,’ he said. ‘I’ll teach Tommy how to do it. He can teach the others. In return, you let me talk to the girl.’
Hunter’s face was expressionless. He turned his back on Ricky and paced for twenty seconds, examining the wallet in his hand.
Suddenly he spun round. ‘If I find out you’re a copper—’ he started to say.
‘He’s only fourteen, Hunter!’ Tommy cut in, using Ricky’s own words. ‘Course he’s not a copper.’
Hunter stared at Ricky again, as though sizing him up. ‘All right,’ he breathed. ‘Take Tommy out now. If you come back with enough cash, maybe we can help. Tommy and the boys see things when they’re out and about – right, lads?’ There was a murmured agreement as Hunter strode up to Ricky, face to face again. ‘And if you come back with nothing, I wouldn’t bother showing your face round here again. Do you get my drift?’
‘Yeah,’ Ricky said quietly. ‘I get your drift.’
12
MAGIC TRICKS
‘Hunter’s a piece of work, eh?’ Ricky said to Tommy as they trudged through the snow away from Keeper’s House. ‘Why do you and the others stick around with him?’
‘You wouldn’t understand,’ Tommy said. He was still scowling.
‘Try me.’
Tommy gave him a sidelong glance, then shrugged. ‘All right. Most of us have run away from home. We look like kids – we are kids. If anyone finds us sleeping rough, we get picked up by the police and sent back where we came from. None of us wants that, and Hunter knows it. He finds places for us to hide – places like Keeper’s House. As long as we keep stealing for him, he lets us stay.’
‘And if you don’t?’
‘He kicks us out.’
‘What a gent.’ They turned onto Brewer Street and started walking south.
‘It’s better than the alternative,’ Tommy said.
Ricky remembered the seedy room he’d rented from Baxter. A horrible place, but he’d been grateful for it. ‘I think I know what you mean,’ he said.
‘Whatever.’ Tommy obviously didn’t want to talk about it.
‘Do you know where that girl is?’ Ricky asked. He looked straight ahead as he put the question. But there was meaning in his voice. They both knew what could happen on the streets to runaway girls.
Tommy didn’t answer and Ricky could sense something. Fear? Was Tommy scared of what Hunter would do if he gave up that information? Probably, Ricky decided. He decided not to push it. His best strategy was to gain Tommy’s trust.
They walked on in silence for a couple of minutes, before Tommy glanced sideways at Ricky. ‘So,’ he said, ‘what’s your big pickpocketing secret?’
Ricky took a moment to order his thoughts. This was something he knew a lot about, from his months on the street. ‘Have you ever seen a magic trick?’ he asked.
‘Yeah,’ Tommy said. ‘Course.’
‘Well, here’s what nobody ever tells you. Every magic trick is the same. They’re all about distraction. The magician gets you to think about something else while he performs the actual trick. Nine times out of ten, he knows what your card is, or which hat the bunny’s in, right from the very start of the trick. The rest of it is all misdirection.’
‘What’s that got to do with stealing?’
‘Everything. Picking a pocket is just the same as doing a magic trick. It’s misdirection. If you manage to distract your mark, the job’s done. You can pick their pocket all day long.’ Ricky could tell he had Tommy’s interest. ‘Of course,’ he continued, ‘sometimes you don’t even have to distract them. Sometimes they do it for you.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You want to know the easiest place to pick a pocket?’
‘Where?’
‘Heathrow, Terminal Two. There’s always delays. When there is, people find somewhere to sit and spread their stuff all over the place, including their hand luggage. Then they have their nose in a book or a newspaper. It’s crazy – you can just stick you
r hand inside their luggage and grab their wallets. They normally have plenty of cash too, because they’re going on holiday.’
They were on Shaftesbury Avenue now. There were more people around, mostly heading towards Piccadilly tube station, huddled against the snow, their arms filled with Christmas sales shopping.
‘Where else?’ Tommy asked. Some of the surliness had left his voice.
‘Near the universities is good, especially in the summertime. The students head off to the local parks to read and work. They’re just like the holiday-makers. They spread out their stuff and don’t pay much attention to it. You can pretty much help yourself.’ He looked up at the sky meaningfully. ‘Not much chance of that in this weather, though. Day like this, you have to do some distraction.’
– You realize you’re beginning to sound like Felix.
– Maybe that’s not such a bad thing. He’s a good teacher . . .
‘Let’s head down into the tube station,’ Ricky said. ‘I want to show you something.’
Piccadilly Circus underground was teeming with people. The floors were damp with slush, and lots of the pedestrians were carrying shopping bags from the sales in nearby Regent Street and Oxford Street. Ricky and Tommy stood by a tube map, their backs against the walls. Just next to them was a poster which said: ‘Pickpockets are operating in this area.’ Ricky’s eyes instantly picked out two London Underground staff chatting to each other fifteen metres to his two o’clock. Other than that, he saw nobody else in uniform.
‘So,’ Ricky said, just loud enough for Tommy to hear him above the hubbub. ‘How do we tell where people are keeping their wallets?’
Tommy gave him a blank look. ‘I dunno,’ he said. ‘Look for a bulge in their pockets, I suppose.’
‘That’s one way,’ Ricky said. ‘But I’ve got a better one. Watch carefully.’ He stepped forward a couple of paces, then feigned a panicked expression and started patting himself down. ‘Someone’s stolen my wallet!’ he called out – not so loud that the whole station would hear, but loud enough for everyone within four or five metres to register what he’d said. That meant about twenty people.
Nearly all of them did the same thing when they heard Ricky: their hands immediately went to one or other of their pockets, or to their shoulder bags or handbags. Within a couple of seconds, they had revealed to Ricky the location of their valuables.
Tommy was standing next to him again. ‘Did you see that?’ Ricky breathed.
‘Yeah,’ Tommy said. There was a hint of admiration in his voice. ‘Nice.’
Ricky was in the zone. And there was something else. He’d been a good pickpocket before. But now, thanks to Felix’s training, he felt even more confident. He was alert. Aware of everything around him. He reckoned there wasn’t a single person in this train station he couldn’t steal from.
For now, he had his eyes on a slim man with short brown hair. This man had touched the rear right-hand pocket of his jeans, so Ricky knew that was where he kept his money. ‘Walk behind me,’ he told Tommy. ‘Get ready to take a wallet if I give it to you.’
Ricky followed his mark closely as he walked straight up to the ticket barriers, feeling dry-mouthed with excitement. It felt good to be doing this again. As the man stood in front of the barriers and slapped his Oyster card onto the sensor, Ricky purposefully barged into the back of him. The man looked round, clearly very irritated.
‘I’m really sorry,’ said Ricky. ‘That was so clumsy of me.’ His apology seemed to calm the man down. He turned back round to face the barrier, which was now wide open. As he stepped forward, Ricky skilfully picked the wallet from his back pocket. He passed it back to Tommy as the man passed through the barrier, which slid shut.
‘Back up,’ Ricky hissed. He and Tommy stepped away from the barrier and back into the crowd. After a couple of seconds, they turned to watch their mark. He was standing at the top of the escalators, patting himself down, just like Ricky had pretended to do.
‘He knows he’s been done,’ said Tommy.
‘Yeah,’ Ricky replied. The man looked panicked. You could see it in his face and his body language.
Then, for the first time ever, Ricky felt a pang. He remembered something Felix had said. Oh, you never know, Coco. One day you might surprise yourself.
– Guilt, Ricky?
– Maybe, a little.
– Would it help to remember that you’re doing this for a reason. You’re trying to help Izzy Cole, remember.
He turned to Tommy. ‘I call that technique the turnstile jam. I don’t think our mark felt me take his wallet, but it wouldn’t really matter if he did. Look, he’s stuck on the other side of the barriers and we’re hidden in the crowd. Did you see how I distracted him by bumping into the back of him?’
‘Not very subtle,’ Tommy said.
‘Course not,’ Ricky replied. ‘If it was subtle, it wouldn’t be a distraction. Come on, let’s get back up to the street. I’ve got a few more tricks to show you.’
And he did. Over the next two hours, Ricky showed Tommy how to perfect the Fake Lift. (‘One of us makes a clumsy attempt at picking someone’s pocket. They realize someone’s trying to rob them and make a big fuss. When their guard’s down, the second person goes in and actually lifts the wallet.’) He talked him through the ‘Guess Who’ trick. (‘I run up behind the mark, put my hands over their eyes and shout “Guess who!” When they turn round, I act all embarrassed and explain that I mistook them for my mum or dad. While they’re distracted by apology, you go in for the kill.) He taught Tommy about the pickpocket’s most useful tool. (‘A razor blade, good and sharp. You make a slit under the mark’s pocket and the wallet just falls out.’) He even shared the old ‘clumsy trip’ trick that he’d pulled on Felix all those weeks ago. (‘Good one for us kids, that. Appeals to the mark’s better nature. And, er . . . if you can smear a bit of blood on your knee or elbow it works even better . . .’)
By the end of the afternoon, they had quite a haul. Five wallets, and well over £300 in cash. And in one of the wallets, there was a unexpected bonus. Inside the pouch meant for coins there was a gold ring with a small gemstone set into it.
‘Might be diamond,’ Tommy said in an awed voice.
Ricky shrugged. ‘Maybe,’ he said. He gave it to Tommy. ‘No need to tell Hunter about that, eh?’
Tommy took the ring with trembling hands. ‘There’s this guy in Chancery Lane,’ he said. ‘I think he’s called Randolph – at least, that’s the name over his shop. He’s a fence – you know, someone who’ll buy any stolen goods. I’ve heard people say he pays good money for jewellery, no questions asked . . .’
Tommy’s eyes shone with the thrill of it. But not Ricky’s. Each time he had watched their mark walk away, unsuspectingly poorer, he felt more deflated. He knew that his skills were good, but was this really how he wanted to spend his time?
Wasn’t he a better person than this? Hadn’t his life improved since he’d stopped relying on petty crime?
The light was failing, and the snow had started to fall heavily again. ‘Let’s get back to Keeper’s House,’ he suggested. He immediately sensed Tommy’s spirits fall, but he reminded himself that he had a job to do, and that job was to find Izzy Cole.
The gloomy basement was no different from how they’d left it. Hunter’s Thrownaways were still lounging around the old furniture, and it was still cold. Hunter was creeping around in the shadows, like a spider patrolling its lair. When Ricky and Tommy appeared, he scuttled forward, his watery eyes suddenly bright and greedy.
‘Well?’ he demanded of Tommy.
Tommy opened up his shoulder bag and presented Hunter with the five wallets. The older man immediately started riffling through them, pulling out the cash and disregarding the credit cards. He counted the notes precisely, licking his forefinger every time he peeled one off. When he’d finished, he looked sharply at Tommy. ‘Did you take any of the cash for yourself?’ he demanded.
Tommy shook his head, a bit ne
rvously.
Ricky decided he needed to change the subject. He stepped forward. ‘Time to keep your end of the bargain, Hunter. Where do I find the girl?’
Hunter stepped forward, a nasty grin on his face. ‘Quite the pushy little fella, aren’t we?’ he rasped. ‘Well, maybe I don’t feel like keeping my end of the bargain. Did you think about that?’
Ricky stayed very calm. ‘Of course I thought about that,’ he replied. ‘Would you like to know what I decided?’
‘I can hardly wait,’ Hunter whispered nastily.
– You’d better come up with something good, Ricky. Hunter isn’t the kind to play games.
But Ricky was making this up as he went along. As he spoke, he remained aware of the entrance to the basement in the corner of his eye. Always have an escape route.
– He’s greedy. Greedy people all have the same weakness.
‘I decided that you’re a businessman. I’m going to need a place to lie low from time to time. Keeper’s House would suit me just right. Every time I turn up, I’ll bring you a few full wallets. Think of me as a regular income.’
Hunter and Ricky locked gazes. Thirty seconds passed. Hunter said nothing. He was clearly unsure whether to trust Ricky.
It was time to gamble.
‘Fine,’ Ricky announced. He nodded at Tommy. ‘Nice working with you, buddy,’ he said. Then he turned and headed back to the staircase.
‘Wait!’
Hunter’s voice was hoarse. Ricky turned to see his face contorted.
‘All right,’ Hunter said. He looked at Tommy. ‘Take him to her,’ he said.
Tommy nodded. ‘This way,’ he told Ricky. And to Ricky’s surprise, rather than lead him back up the stairs, he walked across the basement room towards the door on the far side.
– She was here all along?
– Either that or it’s a trap. Maybe Hunter’s trying to get you somewhere you can’t escape.
Ricky didn’t move. When Tommy was halfway across the basement, he looked back over his shoulder. ‘Come on, then,’ he said.
For the second time that day, Ricky felt the eyes of everyone in the basement on him.
